The Visible Woman...November 10, 2003

The truth is that I think there is something inside me that is art and one of my goals in retirement is to get it outside of me.

A friend of mine once said, to paraphrase, that making a work of art was like turning some deeply felt emotion into some physical thing and then, once it was done, you wanted to just be rid of it. (Unfortunately, I couldn't find the e-mail where my friend, one of the Nancys, said this. So I may not have captured it very well. I don't do direct quotes that well.)

Nevertheless, the whole question of art and what it is and what it means haunts my retirement. Because if I'm not just "working for the man" and using my talent in ways dreamed up by others, then I want to produce something that represents what I want to leave behind.

The book I'm reading [Daybook, The Journal of an Artist by Anne Truitt] addresses the what and why and how of art from a number of angles as a scuptress and painter writes daily thoughts. A lot of it resonated with me although I'm not now and never will be much of a visual artist. I'm creating something in my head, though, an arrangement of things, perhaps words, that will be my mark on the world, pitiful though it may be. What if it is, after all, just this journal?

it's a mess but is it art??? "In my studio I feel at home with myself, peaceful at heart, remote from the world, totally immersed in a process so absorbing as to be its own reward." Anne Truitt, Daybook: The Journal of an Artist	what is art? The truth is that I think there is something inside me that is art and one of my goals in retirement is to get it outside of me. A friend of mine once said, to paraphrase, that making a work of art was like turning some deeply felt emotion into some physical thing and then, once it was done, you wanted to just be rid of it. (Unfortunately, I couldn't find the e-mail where my friend, one of the Nancys, said this. So I may not have captured it very well. I don't do direct quotes that well.) Nevertheless, the whole question of art and what it is and what it means haunts my retirement. Because if I'm not just "working for the man" and using my talent in ways dreamed up by others, then I want to produce something that represents what I want to leave behind. The book I'm reading [Daybook, The Journal of an Artist by Anne Truitt] addresses the what and why and how of art from a number of angles as a scuptress and painter writes daily thoughts. A lot of it resonated with me although I'm not now and never will be much of a visual artist. I'm creating something in my head, though, an arrangement of things, perhaps words, that will be my mark on the world, pitiful though it may be. What if it is, after all, just this journal?
JUST TYPING What? Is Art? This? Not? Rot? Where does art? Start? Stop? What?
		Food Diary. *breakfast* nothing lunch [ Omni Hotel Banquet ] salad with dressing, cherry tomato, ripe olives and croutons stuffed chicken breast in a cream sauce asparagus risotto about 25% of a roll about 25% of a cake and cream dessert *snacks* none dinner [Uchi] a sake some of the apps everyone ordered: eduname, some avocado thing, one piece of sushi, one fried brie on a stick (a person could starve sharing apps) A duck breast with duck confit cassoulet and root vegies. (Nice and filling but not huge.) a couple of glasses of Penfold's Cab/Shiraz one bite of a chocolate dessert (so rich the entire table of six couldn't finish it) cheese and bread and crackers and a glass of Knob Hill whiskey (at the Stephen F. bar, actually, where we went to smoke cigars) Today I didn't - take butter with my bread - finish the bread - finish any desserts - snack - do any exercise except water aerobics
		Time flies.... After water aerobics, I just dried off a little and put my robe on and rushed home. Good thing. As soon as I'd washed out my suit and rash shirt and showered up we had a realtor come by with the contract for us to sign. We then had to go downtown to a luncheon some American Airlines people invited us to for Junior Achievement. That was pretty interesting. The kids played the game that had led to the finals to determine the winner right there with big screens showing them spending on marketing and slashing prices. Didn't get back home until after one. I then tried to do some reading and writing before we went out for the evening. We crawled down Mopac in the rush hour traffic to get to South Austin and arrived at Uchi just at six. We went to the Stephen F. Austin after a languorous meal and sat on the balcony. The place was almost empty on a Monday. The guys bought cigars and we talked and smoked and shared a cheese plate. This was an official meeting of our supper club which is now taking a funny turn as soon only FFP and I will live in the Capital City. One couple was in town from Florida. Another plans to scatter to the winds. And the north winds at that. At home it was still early. I could tune into MAS*H reruns and read some of those old newspapers until the combination of sake, wine and whiskey sent me to sleep.

		Reading. Daybook, The Journal of an Artist by Anne Truitt. This book inspired today's essay (and we use the term loosely). Newspapers. Reading old newspapers in my office in between other tasks I always think that it is so silly to read old news. Sure, a lot of the lifestyle stuff holds up but new events have often overtaken the news. You read about fires after they've dampened and are busily being forgotten by everyone except people with no homes (or fewer homes in the neighborhoods) or the firefighters and the powers behind them. And Arnold is now ignored like most governors, isn't he? I am reminded (although it didn't escape my notice in "real" time that the Long Center is downsizing their vision and that there are forty fewer victim names for WTC. Names read in lists at memorials, no doubt, that were mistakes or frauds.
		I started a short story. But it was too true. I need to use the real images to create fiction with a core of truth, with a smart and timely message.
		Exercise One hour water aerobics.
	. .	Mood was just fine. I was able to listen to other people going on and on about others and be calm and outside myself. I was able to sign a contract in good faith, knowing that there's a good chance it will fall through. I was able to try to write and fail with good spirits.
	It's a Tangled Web we weave...these days of our lives.	One year ago "Still clearning my one little corner of our property." Two years ago "Who knew that instant coffee could become a solid lump and then grow mold?"